


When You Came In (The Air Went Out)

by CelticAurora



Series: Keitor Sugar Daddy AU [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Awkward Family Dinners, Bisexual Lotor (Voltron), Dysfunctional Family, M/M, Sex Work Positive, Sex Worker Positive, Stripper Keith (Voltron), Suggested/Implied Child Abuse, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 01:44:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16546436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticAurora/pseuds/CelticAurora
Summary: Lotor Daibazaal, thirty, wildly successful, and one of Platt City’s most eligible bachelors, has a favorite gentleman’s club he likes to haunt and a secret he keeps out of magazines and tabloids. But one average night, he finds himself enchanted by Event Horizon’s new dancer.





	When You Came In (The Air Went Out)

**Author's Note:**

> They literally cross paths for all of two minutes in Voltron (and half the time is Lotor's villainy being outed), but damn it, I really like the idea of Keitor. I am Keitor trash. There, I said it.
> 
> For [PuerileTrash,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuerileTrash/pseuds/PuerileTrash) who is also Keitor trash. Muchos besos.
> 
> Title from ["Bad Things" by Jace Everett](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xuXTdcouCpY), also known as the True Blood theme song.

Event Horizon was one of Lotor’s best-kept secrets.

As the CEO of Galra Tech, and the son of the founder and chairman of the company, there wasn’t much about Lotor Daibazaal’s life that was private - especially not since he’d ended up on Forbes’ “Thirty Under Thirty” list just three days shy of his thirtieth birthday. Even before the publication of the article, he was in magazines, newspapers, and trashy tabloids, proclaimed as one of the youngest, most daring CEOs, as a genius of engineering design for his work on the Sincline Project, and - the one designation that had brought the most mess into his personal life - as one of the most eligible bachelors around. 

Despite this, however, word had not yet gotten out about his frequent visits to the unassuming-looking club just two blocks away from the very heart of Platt City. People had to have some idea of what Event Horizon was, with its tastefully-spangled navy-carpet entrance and the valet who sidled up to his car - a modest Lexus GS, as opposed to his beloved Porsche 718 Cayman - as soon as he pulled up. However, most people’s gaze tended to slide right past the club, to the bright, glass-fronted shops just on the other side of the private alley that led to the lot for Event Horizon’s parking.

Of course, the bouncer who was currently scowling at him from her spot by the club door may have also been part of the reason people who had no business with the club tended not to hang around. As Lotor approached, Zethrid folded her arms across her chest, shaking her cloud of dyed-blue hair from her face. A former powerlifter for the U.S. Olympic team, she’d traded in her squat suits for an actual three-piece suit, but even still, she looked like she could bench Lotor one-handed. She wore an expensive pair of Ray-Bans, despite the fact that it was well after nine; she slid them down her nose, revealing a wicked-looking scar under her left eye. 

“You again.”

“Evening, Zethrid,” he greeted casually, stopping to look the intimidating bouncer up and down. Despite her gruff and unwelcoming tone, he knew Zethrid liked him - or, at least, tolerated his presence. “How’s Ezor?”

Zethrid’s expression remained unchanged at the mention of her girlfriend’s name, but he could see the change in her eyes; they softened slightly, in the way that only Ezor, or any mention of her, ever could. They’d been together at least as long as Lotor had been a patron of Event Horizon, Ezor putting to use what Lotor learned was years of training as a classical ballerina to rake in tips, stares, and wolf-whistles. It was almost hard to believe that the two of them were together, as they seemed like such an odd pairing; Zethrid was rough-and-tumble, with a bad attitude that matched her intimidating personality, and Ezor was practically sunshine incarnate, bright and vibrant as her multi-color-dyed hair. But Lotor knew better than to discount Ezor based on her looks or personality - he knew that, when push came to shove, she could be just as vicious as Zethrid. 

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” Zethrid said. “She’s inside.”

“I’ll make sure to say hello.” Zethrid opened the door, and he gave her a casual salute. “Try not to crack too many skulls.”

“Enjoy the club.”

Beyond the door was a stretch of hallway that had been designated as the reception area, tastefully decorated in dark navy and a creamy color between white and brown that just seemed too nice to be called beige. Where the hallway came to an end, branching off into a T, stood a reception desk of ebony wood, guarding the entry to both the main lounge and the private rooms that could be found on either end of the back hall. Her black hair cascaded down her back, and her dark eyes stared unblinkingly at Lotor as he approached.

“Good evening, Narti.”

She nodded by way of greeting. He’d learned, through the grapevine, that Narti was mute; he would have thought that would have made her job as a receptionist difficult, but he supposed the owner of Event Horizon had an interesting sense of humor, hiring a woman who could not speak as the receptionist of a gentlemen’s club. 

Besides, Narti didn’t need a voice to communicate. Or to ward off any creeps that might have made it past Zethrid’s muscles. Though Narti was slender, she was just as intimidating as the bouncer outside.

She slid a clipboard across the desk to him, along with a slim silver pen, and he signed his name with little thought. Even though it was proof of his visit (and he knew there was a whole file of recorded visits in the back office) he didn’t worry; everything at Event Horizon was strictly confidential, for the safety of both patrons and dancers. Narti lifted an expectant eyebrow, and Lotor reached into his pocket, producing his phone and passing it into her waiting hands. While he felt naked without it, he did appreciate the extra step that the club took in keeping things private and protected.

His phone disappeared behind the desk, and Narti inclined her head to the right, towards the lounge itself.

The lights were low in the lounge, the room made even darker by the navy walls and dark gray carpet. Pinpricks of LED lights dotted the ceiling in clusters mimicking constellations, while the stage and massive catwalk - the main feature of the room - were bathed in lights of white, purple, and blue. Leather armchairs and small, circular tables were arranged around the catwalk, while black leather couches were arranged around the outer edges of the space. The air was filled with a heady, electronic beat (was that Katy Perry?) and on stage, Ezor was swinging around the pole in a pair of six-inch heels are easily as if she was walking down the street. In true Ezor fashion, she was probably one of the most scantily-clad dancers, wearing barely-there panties and a gauzy bra in a burnt orange shade that would have looked awful on anyone else but her. 

Lotor bypassed the stage, and the armchairs arranged in front of it, for the dark wood bar on the far side of the room instead. It had been a long fucking week, and it was only Wednesday. He needed to take the edge off of his nerves in order to best enjoy himself; Event Horizon was his space to relax.

To be himself, completely and fully.

The club was nice enough on its own, but what really kept Lotor coming back was the fact that the club’s range of dancers caterer to a broad spectrum of interests, and here, when safely nestled in a chair before the stage with a very dry martini, Lotor could enjoy the dancers - female and male.

Publicly, Lotor was about as far into the closet as he could go without encountering mythical lands and talking lions. The possible PR nightmare that might ensue if he took a partner of the same sex was more than he cared to think about; his life was already enough of a public spectacle. Privately, he was out to a select few people. His parents happened to be among these select few, but that had never been an intentional choice of his, and had only happened on accident. The revelation had gone better than expected - his mother was so absorbed in whatever projects she did as head of research and development that she wouldn’t have cared if he threw a parade announcing his sexuality, and there had been far less yelling from his father than he thought there would be. But Zarkon Daibazaal was a hardass of a man, and he had told Lotor, in no uncertain terms, to “keep that gay shit of yours out of this house.”

(Technically speaking, Lotor was bisexual, not gay, but he didn’t argue the distinction out of the knowledge that it wouldn’t make a shit bit of difference to his father.)

“Acxa,” he sighed, leaning against the bar, “a double, please.”

The bartender turned to him, glass and a bottle of whiskey already in her hand. Acxa was probably the most conservatively dressed employee in the room, with her black shirt literally buttoned all the way to her chin. She was also, like most employees in the lounge itself, unfairly pretty, with short, dark hair cut in a stylish bob and endless dark-blue eyes. In one of his first nights at Event Horizon, he’d gone as far as asking for her number, a move he was still embarrassed about even to this day, and it had been nearly two years. To her credit, Acxa had at least been gentle in turning him down.

“Rough week?”

“You have no idea.”

Acxa poured a fairly liberal amount of whiskey into the glass. “It’s only Wednesday.”

“My father has been on my ass about our merger with Altea Corp since I set foot in the building on Monday.” Lotor threw back the entire glass in one go, savoring the slight burn of the whiskey as it slid down his throat and into his gut. “That I got out of there before midnight tonight is nothing short of a fucking Christmas miracle. I’ve been there until after two A.M. the past two nights.”

“Easy now,” Acxa cautioned, taking his empty glass. “This isn’t a frat house, and that’s not Jack Daniels. You do want to be functional tomorrow, don’t you?”

“Apologies, I’m tired.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “How’s Veronica?”

In the dim light, he could see Acxa blush slightly. “She’s wonderful. They’re about to debut a new fighter jet prototype at the Garrison, so she’s been putting in a lot of overtime. But we’ve been talking about going on vacation after the unveiling. Just the two of us.”

“Well, if anyone deserves it, it’s you two.”

“Shameless flirt.” She smirked at Lotor’s sputtering protests to the contrary, sliding him another glass, this time whiskey on the rocks. “Do try to make this one last, won’t you?”

“I will. I promise.”

“Good. Shall I start a tab?”

Lotor handed over his black Amex, and after she ran it, she shooed him towards one of the chairs in front of the stage with a smile on her lips and the promise of a fun surprise. Nursing the glass in his palms, he settled into one of the armchairs, watching as Ezor finished her set, strutting around the stage to collect her tips from the rails before disappearing behind the curtain with a smile and a final shake of her ass. The lights went down, leaving the pinpricks of LED light from the ceiling as the only source of illumination.

A low, grungy guitar filled the club. The stage lights came up, bathing the room in a soft red glow. At first, Lotor though the stage was empty - but then he saw that the dancer had, in the darkness, slipped out onto the stage, and now lay on the stage, writhing softly - tossing their head back and forth, lifting one leg slightly, dragging their hands lightly over the wood of the stage, all pale limbs and black lace.

And then, with the drum, the dancer moved, surging onto their knees and shedding a black mesh robe like it was a skin. They spun on a knee to face the audience, and Lotor swore he’d been punched in the gut.

The dancer was a beautiful young man, no older than his early twenties, with a cloud of soft, dark hair that fell to his shoulders and tumbled artfully over one eye. He was clothed in a cropped halter top of black lace, with matching, sinfully-tight boyshorts. As Lotor watched, he crawled towards the end of the stage on hands and knees, slow, like a panther on the prowl, the intensity in his one visible eye enough to make heat curl low in Lotor’s gut. His dress slacks seemed uncomfortably tight all of a sudden.

Another sharp beat, and the dancer reached out, grabbing the pole and swinging himself from his knees to his bare feet. He wrapped both legs around the pole, spinning slow and controlled in time with the music, leaning back until only his legs gripped the pole, back arched. As the pole twirled, Lotor realized he was also, slowly, sliding down it; his knees hit the stage, and he grabbed the pole with one hand again, grinding his hips against it in time with the music.

A few patrons had already come up to the stage and tucked bills into the rails, all as enraptured as Lotor. He reached into his wallet, pulling out a hundred dollar bill without thinking twice about it, and, after a gulp of whiskey to steel his nerves, he approached the stage and slid the hundred into the rails…

...just as the dancer swung one leg over the other, bringing himself to the edge of the stage and face-to-face with Lotor.

And he froze. Lotor had never frozen before, always been cool under pressure and an adept flirt. But less than six inches from the most gorgeous dancer he’d ever met, with his cock already more than half-hard in his pants, he couldn’t do anything but his best impression of a deer in headlights.

The dancer reached out, delicately plucking the bill from Lotor’s hands. He pressed a kiss to it, tucked it into the rails, and, with a wink, swung his right leg up and through the air, bringing it down to end up with his legs splayed and giving Lotor an up-close-and-personal view of his crotch, at the delicate lace of his boyshorts, so thin that he could see the outline of the dancer’s dick through it.

While he struggled to breathe, the dancer brought his left leg through the air and down, closing his legs and turning away, moving into a slow front straddle at the side of the stage. But still, that split second had been more than enough to wreck Lotor’s sanity. He staggered back to his seat, draining his glass of whiskey and trying to get enough brain cells together to form a coherent thought.

“You must be enjoying yourself.”

He nearly spilled the dregs of his whiskey all over himself. Looking up, he saw that Ezor was now making a lap around the lounge; she had draped herself across the back of his chair, looking very much so like the cat that’d gotten the cream. He cleared his throat and crossed his legs in an attempt to minimize the appearance of the raging erection he was sporting.

Ezor laughed. “Oh don’t be so shy. That means he’s doing a good job.”

Lotor looked back up at the stage, where the dancer had just snapped a leg up next to his head, tumbling effortlessly into a backwards roll. Ezor wasn’t wrong - he was  _ definitely _ doing a good job. And Lotor was  _ definitely _ enjoying himself.

“Who is he?”

“New dancer. Goes by Akira. He was working some trashy truck-stop stripper joint out in the middle of the desert off of I-40. Wasting his talent, if you ask me.”

Akira’s song had trailed off, with soft guitars and incomprehensible words crooned by the singer. He had ended how he’d started - sprawled on his back on the stage - but once the song ended, he sprung up with a powerful backbend, starting a quick lap around the stage to collect his tips as the lights came up. When he got to the Benjamin that Lotor had left, he pulled it out slowly, purplish eyes heavy-lidded and burning as he pinned Lotor with a stare. Then, without breaking eye contact, he slid the bill into the front of his shorts, making sure to give the bulge of his shorts a little pat, as if making sure the money was secure. Lotor was glad, suddenly, he was sitting, because all the blood in his body drained to pool in one location, and he was pretty sure he would have keeled over if he’d been standing.

Ezor laughed as Akira sauntered off to collect the rest of his tips and Lotor tried not to come in his pants like a horny teenage boy.

“Oh, I think he likes you.”

* * *

The first and third Thursday evenings of every month were, by Zarkon’s orders, family dinner night. Coincidentally, Lotor usually spent the first and third Thursday of every month wondering if he’d have turned out any better if he’d grown up as an orphan.

He’d never wanted for anything as a child, of course, and even now still wanted for nothing. But money didn’t make his parents any less screwed up than they were - in fact, he was pretty sure his parents had gotten more screwed up as time went on and as the company earned more money. He was sure that, at one point, Zarkon and Honerva Daibazaal were a normal couple that loved him, their only child, very dearly, but if so, it was way too far back for him to remember.

Lotor hadn’t stopped thinking about the dancer from Event Horizon since he’d left the club the night before. When he’d made it back to his apartment complex from the club, he’d parked in a dark corner of the garage and had himself a quick and dirty wank, just enough to take the edge off and make him think straight. That morning, he’d had a longer, slower session in the shower, getting off to the memory of Akira’s mile-long legs and tight lace boyshorts. And, he promised him, if he got through dinner with his parents without putting the salad fork through anyone’s eye, he would go back to Event Horizon and see if Akira was amiable to a private dance.

“How soon can we expect to see the merger go through?”

Lotor’s fantasy of Akira straddling his lap vaporized; he blinked in surprise and found his father staring him down expectantly. He took a sip of water.

“I thought the rule was  _ no business at the table? _ ”

Zarkon bristled, and Lotor had to resist the urge to flinch. Zarkon Daibazaal was not a man accustomed to being told no, but Lotor wasn’t some scared, snivelling child anymore. He was a grown man, and CEO to boot, and right now, he just wanted to get through dinner without tearing his hair out.

“You made the rule yourself, darling,” Honerva droned, lowering her menu to fix her husband with a dead-eyed stare. “You should abide by it.”

Zarkon picked up his glass of water, holding it tight enough that he could have feasibly shattered it. “Yes,  _ dear. _ ”

“Thank you, Mother,” Lotor said, but Honerva merely went back to studying her menu as if she would be quizzed on it. His father continued to glare at him from across the table. He sighed, glancing at his watch and steeling himself for another wonderfully awkward family dinner.

“Good evening, and welcome to Feyiv’s.”

The waited had practically snuck up on him, so lost he was in his own thoughts. He looked up, poised to return the greeting - he wasn’t raised in a barn, after all - and order himself a gin and tonic (heavy on the gin), but froze, his heart dropping into his stomach at blood rushing to his crotch.

Akira was standing at the table, poised to take their order.

Had it not been for the man’s gorgeous violet eyes, Lotor wasn’t sure he’d have believed this was the same man. His mop of black hair was slicked back, shiny and hard from hair gel, the ends scraped into a small, tight knot at the nape of his neck. He was clothed from neck to toe in black - black pants, black shirt, black shoes, with the only color coming from his violet necktie and a small silver name tag that read Keith.

And though Akira’s - Keith’s? - expression remained at a friendly neutral, Lotor could tell, from the slight widening of the young man’s eyes that he’d been recognized as well.

_ Please, please please act like you don’t know me, I will literally tip you the cost of the bill if you act like I didn’t give you a hundred dollars to stuff down your pants last night, I beg of you… _

“My name is Keith, and I’ll be taking care of you this evening,” he continued, with only the slightest glance in Lotor’s direction. “What can I get you started with?”

Zarkon ordered a bottle of wine for the table. Knowing that was not going to be enough to keep his sanity in check with this new wrench in the works, Lotor ordered himself that gin-heavy gin and tonic.

“I’ll get those started right away,” Keith said, heading towards the bar. Lotor had gotten a glimpse of Keith’s ass as he’d walked away, and it should have been a crime for his ass to look that nice in slacks. He pressed his lips together to hold back a sigh - there was no way he was getting out of this dinner unscathed.

“Is the wine not good enough?”

“Hmm?” Lotor returned his attention to the table, where he found his father giving him a disapproving look. 

“I asked, is the wine not good enough?”

“It’s a fine vintage,” Lotor assured him. “But seeing as I’m footing the bill tonight, I figured you wouldn’t care if I ordered myself something a little stronger.”

“It seems unnecessary.”

“It’ll be fine, Father.”

Zarkon didn’t argue, but still continued to pin Lotor with a disapproving stare. Lotor raised an eyebrow, feeling a little bold.

“Is there a problem with me ordering an extra drink, Father?”

Zarkon sipped his water, frown deepening into a scowl. Lotor knew he was toeing a fine line, but he’d lived so many years under his father’s thumb, working desperately to succeed, to make a name for himself - to maybe, just maybe make his father proud of him. He was a grown man, now, and a damn successful one at that. There wasn’t much that Zarkon could do to touch him now.

“It’s a drink, Zarkon. He’ll be fine,” Honerva argued dispassionately, setting down her menu.

“Excessive drinking erodes discipline.”

“If you wanted discipline, you should have sent him to military school.” Honerva picked up her phone, no doubt to tend to the backlog of emails she had received in the twenty minutes they’d been at the restaurant. “Now, can we have a peaceful family dinner, or are we not capable of that?”

A family dinner? The idea was laughable. They weren’t a family, they were a dysfunctional trio of people, bound together by the bonds of marriage and blood, just codependent enough that they couldn’t completely sever ties with each other. Emotionally, it wouldn’t be hard for Lotor to walk away from his parents, cut ties with them. But...it was harder otherwise. He was so deeply entrenched in Galra Tech, so vital to his role, that he wouldn’t be able to stay away. And while he knew he could have walked away from his parents, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stay away. Deep down, under all the sophistication and jaded cynicism, he was still just a little boy who wanted to make his parents proud.

“I promise, nothing will happen,” Lotor said with a simpering smile.

_ What does he think is going to happen? _ He wondered.  _ Does he think I’m going to get wasted off gin and wine and shove my hand down our gorgeous waiter’s pants? _

Speak of the Devil...Keith returned, wine and two glasses in one hand and a gin and tonic in the other, and Lotor realized that thinking about anything having to do with Keith’s pants was a bad idea. He wondered if it was possible to discreetly pour his glass of ice water down his pants in the hopes it would do something to discourage his cock from thinking for him.

Keith distributed the drinks, then took orders for their entrees before departing again. Lotor took a generous gulp of his drink, hoping that Keith would be kind enough to keep his visits to the table polite but minimal, because he wasn’t quite sure how much his nerves could take.

“Our waited keeps looking at you.”

Lotor set his glass down, finding that not only had his father pinned him down with a questioning stare, but his mother had actually put her phone down to do the same.

_ Well shit. _

“He’s making eye contact while I’m ordering. I’m pretty sure that’s just part of being a good server.”

“No, it’s not like that,” Honerva said, shaking her head. “It’s like he knows you.”

_ God damn it. _

“Maybe we went to school together,” he said with a shrug. Two seconds later, however, it dawned on him how flimsy a suggestion that was. He’d gone to some of the most prestigious academies and boarding schools, and one of the best-known, most expensive private colleges. No one he had gone to school with would be working as a waiter, even in a classy place like Feyiv’s. 

“You went to school with  _ him? _ ” Zarkon raised an eyebrow and Lotor realized that, of course, his father didn’t buy his excuse for a second.

“He must have been a scholarship,” Honerva said, although her tone at the word  _ scholarship _ made it very clear she didn’t approve of students who couldn’t afford to go to those prestigious schools, even if they deserved a place there.

He needed to leave the table. He needed to leave before he lost his mind.

“Excuse me,” he said, removing his napkin from his lap and departing the table, heading for the restroom. He needed to gather his thoughts. To steel his nerves. To splash some water on his face and God, he had to do something about his half-hard cock, even though blood rushed to his face at the idea of jerking it in the stalls of the posh restaurant bathroom. It was all just too much…

He rounded the corner to the hallway that led to both the restrooms and the kitchen...and careened right into a warm and moving body. A cascade of cold water poured down the front of his dress shirt, and glasses shattered as they hit the floor.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I - ” Lotor looked from his dripping shirt to the server he’d just collided with, only to find Keith reaching for the broom and dustpan. “You!”

Keith glanced up at Lotor, and a cocky little smirk graced his lips - the smirk that belonged to Akira, the dancer, not Keith, the waiter.

“Not that I don’t like the whole ‘go big or go home’ approach, but there are easier ways to get my attention.”

“What are you doing here?” Lotor hissed.

Keith gestured to his uniform, then to the broom in his hand. “Working.”

“But...but the club…”

“Shhhh.” Keith held a finger to his lips. “That’s my night job. Well, my  _ other _ night job.”

“I...I don’t…”

“Get it? There’s not much to get. I have a lot of bills. I work two jobs to pay them.” Keith shrugged. “Simple as that.”

There was a commotion in the kitchen, and Lotor saw someone move in front of the window in the kitchen door. Keith glanced down towards the door, then turned back to Lotor.

“Look, I’m on the clock, so wherever you were heading, you might want to head there before I get in trouble.”

He nodded dumbly, inching around the glass shards and Keith’s broom to make it to the alcove the bathrooms were tucked into. He knew it would be best to just slip into the bathroom and pretend the conversation he’d just had with Keith hadn’t happened, but...there was one last thing he wanted to know.”

“Keith..?”

Keith glanced up from where he was kneeling on the floor, sweeping up glass shards.

“When...when will you be at the club again?”

Keith glanced over his shoulder, then back to Lotor, a devious grin on his face. “Saturday night. There’s a big fundraising event. Bring lots of cash and I could make every one of your dreams come true.”

Lotor’s stomach did a somersault. Keith only chuckled, then got up off the floor and made for the kitchen door with the dustpan full of broken glass. Lotor’s eyes followed him all the way down, and as soon as Keith had slipped into the kitchen, he groaned and ducked into the bathroom. His cock was now achingly hard in his pants, and he wouldn’t be able to make it through the rest of dinner if he didn’t do something about it.

There would be time for shame later.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Ezor's routine is set to a Katy Perry song - specifically to ["E.T."](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Xxhsi9vyA0)
> 
> Keith's routine is set to ["Change (In the House of Flies)" by Deftones](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hzRltUL5M3k)


End file.
